Disclaimer: The characters, plot, registered trademarks, and location of Kick-Ass are not mine. They belong to Mark Millar or Marvel Comics or someone. I suppose the location doesn't — that's New York City, which belongs to the world or something.
Note: This story uses the comic book continuity, in which Dave was 16 and Mindy was 10 when they met. Mindy now lives with her mother and is retired from the vigilante biz.
Warning: This story isn't for kids. The language is milder than in the Kick-Ass comic book, but the relationship between two seriously screwed up people was written to be as disturbing as I could make it.
It wasn't normal. It wasn't right. He knew that. He acknowledged that.
That didn't change anything.
She was the most fascinating girl — no, the most fascinating person — he had ever met. That he had ever imagined. As a kid he had obsessed over comic book superheroes, imagining what it would be like to meet them and talk with them and go on patrol with them. Pretty exciting stuff, when you're twelve.
Not so much, anymore. Now that he was an adult, the comic book superheroes seemed so … shallow. Sure, they had some kind of back story, some kind of problems to get through when they weren't beating up the villains. And the few who didn't get their superpowers through some cheat like a magic ring or a radioactive spider were shown to be exercising and practicing, but it was a pale shadow of the real thing.
Mindy was the real thing. He'd watched her in action. He'd seen her beaten so badly that any normal person would have lain down and died, but she never gave up and she got back on her feet and kept fighting. He'd seen her workouts, pushing herself to the ultimate expression of the human body with a willpower he'd never even dreamed about. At ten years old.
At first Dave had hung out with Mindy because she had no one else to stay with. Her upbringing did not teach her to live on her own except in survival mode. Later, after he had helped her find her mother, Dave had been Mindy's pressure relief valve. Big Daddy had raised her under strict rules and with a very tough regimen, tougher than her mother and society expected her to live by, but her younger life had been totally different than what was expected of an ordinary ten-year-old girl going to an ordinary school and having ordinary friends and emphatically not exercising and training with weapons for four hours a day. Dave let Mindy vent and complain when it got too much for her. He explained things when she was confused and frustrated. Compared to her he was just a pretender in a wetsuit, but still he understood her better than her mother or anyone else ever could.
Dave became Mindy's most trusted confidant. And she became his. Mindy's mom understood. It took her a while to trust the teenage boy who was friends with her preteen daughter. It would be nice to say that Dave's honesty and sincerity and obvious concern for his young friend won her over. That wasn't it at all. Mindy demonstrated her ability to take care of herself. That's what got her mother's acceptance.
Mindy had tried to fit into ordinary little girl life. She really did. She couldn't do it. At best, ordinary little girl life was a vacation from her real life. She'd been raised since as far back as she could remember to apply drive and discipline and dedication to everything she did.
Before long, Mindy was exercising again. Not to the same four hour schedule and not to the point of muscle collapse every day. Dave joined her. He wanted to make sure she didn't hurt herself and he wanted to do what he could to keep her down to a sane regimen. And he wanted to get himself into peak shape.
He couldn't keep up. No matter that he pushed himself until he wanted to cry. No matter that he was six years older and male and outweighed her by eighty pounds. She could run faster, jump higher, and put him in a submission hold in five seconds flat.
The problem, part of it, was testosterone. Lack of testosterone. Thanks to Bobby Ball-Buster he'd lost his nads when he was sixteen. His father had been more heartbroken then he was himself. Frankly, Dave counted himself lucky to have survived that night.
Now, though, a couple years later, Dave was a little heartbroken. He would never have normal sexual relations with a woman. Intellectually, he accepted this. Intellectually, he knew it was better to be alive and damaged then dead.
Tell that to the back of his brain. Tell that to his prostate or whatever it was that had him looking for some outlet.
And so Dave got through his days, working a summer mcjob before starting college, working out with Mindy, working on finding a way to relieve his sexual pressure. If he weren't so tired all the time the stress might have made him crack.
Mindy's twelfth birthday had passed a few months ago. She acceded to her mom's wishes and dressed up for the occasion. She was utterly adorable in a light print dress and with early spring flowers braided into her hair. Pound for pound she might be the strongest person on the planet, but her arms and legs were sleek, not bulky. And for the first time Dave saw that she was developing curves. She favored loose, bulky clothes when lounging and her Kevlar armor when working out, so he had never noticed it before. Dave had quickly turned away to get himself more cake, feeling like a perv for checking out a twelve-year-old.
It did make workouts a bit more uncomfortable since then. More than just the physical pain. Dave was aware that Mindy was no longer a little girl but growing into a young woman. When they sparred he felt uncomfortable hitting her in the chest. When they wrestled there was no place he could put his hands.
Mindy called him on it. He couldn't look at her when he explained. They were each other's closest confidants and they could talk to each other about anything, but this was too awkward.
"Get over it, Dave. Are you going to let your pussy ass get whipped just because you're fighting someone with a pussy? And anyway, it doesn't matter if you're enjoying it. Go ahead and enjoy it if you want to. You don't do anything for me — nothing personal — and I can kick your ass if you get carried away."
If anything, that made it worse. More awkward. Had Mindy given him permission to grope her when they worked out? That was too creepy.
But he needed the training and she was his trainer and so he continued working out with her. And if his hand touched an inappropriate spot while they were working out, neither of them said anything about it.
The day came that an hour of sparring ended up with Mindy on the ground and Dave lying atop her to hold her down. Never one to accept defeat, even in practice, even to a friend, Mindy head butted Dave in the nose. Dave's blood spurted over Mindy's face and his hip ground into her pelvis as he spasmed for a moment.
Mindy spasmed for a moment.
They picked themselves up and cleaned themselves up. The incident was not mentioned.
A week later, an almost-identical scenario played out. And again the next week. By this time it was obvious that Mindy was setting it up deliberately.
They couldn't avoid it anymore. Dave and Mindy, close friends and closest confidants, discussed what they had been doing. To Dave's dismay, he had to give her the birds and bees talk. She had missed the elementary school version and had not yet gotten to the middle school version and somehow her mother hadn't thought to sit her down and give her The Talk.
Dave's version of the talk covered more than the bare minimum. He had to let Mindy know why she was enjoying their wrestling. The damage to his own equipment was actually less embarrassing to talk about.
A few days later, over ice cream, Mindy told Dave that her explorations by herself didn't have the same results. She asked him to help her, to work with her, to experiment and help her learn how to do it herself.
Dave said no, of course. She was twelve years old. Accidental touches during training were one thing, but molesting a twelve-year-old was another thing entirely.
At the next practice, Mindy was a terror. She came at Dave like a tornado and in seconds had one of his wrists bent the wrong way. She forced him to molest her under threat of a broken wrist.
Dave hated himself. For being weaker than Mindy. For not being strong enough to help his friend mature like a normal girl. For enjoying it.
As the weeks passed and every workout ended with molestation, they learned that Mindy could not reach her peak unless she was forcing Dave. They learned that Dave was able to get some relief, too, even if his body was unable to respond. They did some research and concluded that the strictness of Mindy's childhood and her uncompromising self-discipline found its outlet in this way. She could have gone to a therapist, some professional, to seek treatment. She never considered it. She liked herself the way she was.
Dave could have cut off all contact with Mindy. Could have notified someone to get her help. He never did. Who else would put up with him, maimed as he was?
More weeks passed. Dave was now a college freshman. He was involved with a middle school girl.
It was abnormal. It was wrong. But it was as good as either of them was going to get.
Author's note: This story was inspired by Makokam's Only Her. (For anyone who did not like what I did here, any blame should be directed only at me, not at him.) Only Her gave me a -yuck- feeling, but I figured, if you're going to write about deviant desires, do it right.